


save lay my rifle down

by hipsterchrist



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dreams, Friendship, Gen, Heist, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipsterchrist/pseuds/hipsterchrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne had stood at baggage claim and asked, "What now?" and then, "Do we ever steal tangible things?" so Eames fully plans to blame her if something goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	save lay my rifle down

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect" by The Decemberists. Also included in the story is "Hesitation Blues" sung by Jelly Roll Morton. Also, it's true about the penises.

It's Ariadne's idea.

Wait, no – actually it's Eames' idea, but Ariadne had stood at baggage claim and asked, "What now?" and then, "Do we ever steal tangible things?" so Eames fully plans to blame her if something goes wrong. It won't, of course – Eames had been stealing tangible things long before Cobb had ever plucked him up from obscurity – but he appreciates the security of having someone else to blame.

Arthur is, naturally, against it at the start. "Tangible thievery means tangible consequences if we're caught," he says, like he'd never gotten shot in the knee during a dream and woken up with a bruise on his leg. "What roles would we even play in a conscious heist?" he asks, like it wasn't obvious that each of their dream extraction roles all have parallels in reality. "None of us are experts in this kind of extraction; it's too risky," he says, like Eames isn’t there. "What would we even steal?" he asks, like he's seriously considering it. Eames knows he's in.

Ariadne and Arthur sit across from each other and discuss their possibilities. They decide, "Diamonds," as they shovel omelettes and hash browns into their mouths.

Eames waits for the familiar blues notes to float through the diner before he steps away from the juke box to sit at the table and say, "No."

"No?" Ariadne asks. "Why not?"

"Diamonds are pedestrian and boring and predictable," Eames says matter-of-factly. Arthur narrows his eyes at him. "It should be an art museum."

"An art museum," Arthur – says; he doesn't ask. It's rarely a question with Eames. "Why do you want to steal from an art museum when we could steal diamonds?"

Eames grabs Arthur's fork from his hand and takes a bite of food from Arthur's plate. "Because, darling," he says when he's done chewing, " _I want a bloody Caravaggio_."

Arthur blinks once, tries not to stare at Eames' mouth, turns to Ariadne. "Art museum, then?"

\--

The thing about Eames that really keeps Arthur coming back is the way he divvies out personal information to others like it's a reward. Arthur didn't know about Eames' affinity for jazz and blues music until the morning after the first time they slept together. He'd awoken to hopeful notes on piano filling the room and had turned onto his back, eyes shut, breathing out the beginning words to "Hesitation Blues" when Eames had returned to bed, his mouth on Arthur's neck, teeth teasing at Arthur's quickening pulse.

"Never told me you liked Jelly Roll Morton," Arthur had said quietly, fingers playing on Eames' arm as if it were a piano.

"You never asked, love," Eames had replied, ghosting his mouth along Arthur's jaw, up to his ear. "Can I get you now?" he'd sung roughly, "Do I have to hesitate?" Arthur had dug his fingers into Eames' arm and the rest of the morning had become a blur of sighs and scratches, kisses and reluctant begging.

It's a similar story with the art thing. Arthur's sliding a damp washcloth along Eames' stomach when he says, "You never told me you're an art nerd."

Eames wrinkles his nose and says, " _Aficionado_ ," then, "You never asked, love." He catches Arthur's wrist and tosses the washcloth across the room.

"Hey, you almost got it in the sink this time," Arthur says, a little impressed. He allows Eames to pull him down to the bed and only adds, "You wouldn't have told me anyway," after he's settled comfortable and close to Eames' side.

"I might've," Eames mutters, "if you'd asked the right question."

"Is Caravaggio your favorite?"

"Of the Baroque period, certainly. Mostly I like that he was batshit, though," Eames says thoughtfully.

Arthur breathes out a laugh. "Of course," he says.

"Don't tell me," Eames says. "You're fond of Cézanne and Monet, aren't you?"

"You know me and my Francophilia," Arthur replies lightly.

"Monet looks like hotel art, you know."

Arthur sighs. "I'm not rising to that bait," he says resolutely, then, "I like Monet because you have to stand at a distance for his paintings to make any sense. Stand too close and it just looks like a blur of nothing." (In a dream, later, he knows Eames will never let him live it down, but he says anyway, "And those water lilies make me feel calm."

Eames chuckles. "Of course they do, love.")

\--

Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne have their choices narrowed down to the Louvre or the Vatican Museums. Ariadne votes for the Louvre. Eames votes for the Vatican Museums.

"It's beautiful, stealing from the church," he says. "Besides, there's a room full of stone penises somewhere in there and I aim to find it."

Arthur levels his gaze at Eames. "What?"

"Back when the church went through their censorship phase about exposed penises on the nude sculptures, they removed all the penises and replaced them with marble or whathaveyou leaves," Eames explains. "And they put all the penises in one room, and then later they wanted to put everything back like it was originally, but no one kept records of which penises go to which sculpture, so now there's just a room full of sculpted penises with no nude men to return to at the Vatican Museums."

Ariadne blinks at him. "Why do you know that?"

Eames winks at her. "You'd be surprised at the things I know, sweetheart." He looks toward Arthur. "So what's your deciding vote?"

Arthur hates being the deciding vote. He bites at the inside of his cheek and suggests a list of pros and cons for each option. "And your only pro cannot be a room full of penises."

The next day, Eames and Ariadne present their lists, hers written neatly on a spare piece of graphing paper and his scrawled on two napkins from a local bar. Ariadne's list of pros for the Louvre points out that, having lived in Paris as an architecture student, she knows a lot about the layout and security of the museum already. On her list of cons, she's written, "No penis room" and drawn a sad face. Eames' pros column is mostly just a list of artists whose works are at the Vatican Museums; he doesn't even have a list of cons. Arthur looks at him questioningly and he admits, "Security's probably tight as a nun's arse." Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"So we're hitting the Louvre," he decides. "If this one works out, we'll hit the Vatican next."

"It'll work out," Eames says. There's absolutely no trace of uncertainty in his voice.

(In a dream, later, Arthur blurts out, "I love you," and Ariadne isn't there.)

Arthur nods. "It'll work out," he agrees. "And then we'll go to Rome. But now we go to Paris."

\--

Ariadne's Paris apartment is roomy and cute and cluttered with small scale models of homes and high rise apartments and corporate buildings. Arthur sits down on an ugly sofa and examines a model of a house made of sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows. There's a tiny garden in the tiny backyard and Arthur swears he can smell the gardenias. (In a dream, later, he's living there, stable and satisfied, and Eames is teaching him how to cook. Tonight it's a pasta dish that shouldn't be complicated, but is because Arthur's awful at cooking. Eames laughs and puts him in charge of the sauce instead. Arthur looks out the window at the garden and says, "Let's get a pet."

Eames tests the noodles and replies, "You know, I have very positive feelings about pigs.")

"This flat is far too large for one girl," Eames says.

Ariadne shrugs sheepishly. "I don't really cohabitate well with other people."

Eames laughs. "You and Arthur have that in common." He kicks Arthur's shoe and Arthur doesn't look up at him.

\--

After two visits to the Louvre, the three of them decide to sedate the security guards, which involves calling on Yusuf again. When Yusuf arrives, he has only two questions: "How big of a paycheck are we talking about here?" and "What are you going to do about the cameras and lasers?"

Eames has an answer for the first question: "It's _the Louvre_. You'll be able to steal as much invaluable art as you want – millions, at least, for each of us."

Nobody has an answer for the second question.

Yusuf blinks at them and says, "Well, I guess it's good for you that I'm here, then." He sits at the kitchen table and opens a suitcase. "Ariadne, talk to me about security," he says, and just like that, he's in.

\--

On the day of the heist, Arthur stands at the window in the second bedroom he's been sharing with Eames, his hands in his pockets, staring down at the street outside, waiting for Ariadne and Yusuf to return from completing Part One. "Do you believe in past lives?" he asks. "Or reincarnation?"

Eames looks up at him from the bed, flicking a lighter open and closed. "I might," he answers, "if I thought about it enough. Why?"

(In a dream, later, Arthur is quiet when he says, "Sometimes I think, in another life, we could have loved each other better."

Eames is suddenly behind him, warm and solid, kissing the back of his neck. "We've got it just as well as we deserve, love.")

Arthur shrugs. "Just curious." His eyes catch a girl in a teal jacket walking toward the building and he turns away from the window. "Time to go."

\--

Eames gets trigger-happy with the tranquilizer gun that Yusuf designed once the museum closes for the night. A sedation dart nearly hits Ariadne after he's shot four of the guards. She glares at him and snatches the gun away.

"You're not supposed to hit them in the neck anyway," she admonishes, aiming at another security guard and shooting him in the shoulder. Arthur catches the man before his body hits the floor and arranges him to lean against the wall.

"Where'd you learn to shoot?" Eames asks, even though he knows the answer, can tell from her technique.

"Arthur taught me," Ariadne answers. "Yusuf showed me how to shoot these guns, though, of course."

"When you're ready to learn from a real man how to shoot a real gun," Eames says, "let me know."

"You know you don't fool me, right?" Ariadne asks him. Eames tries to hide any expression when he looks at her, but he can tell by the smug way the corners of her mouth twitch up that he's revealing something in his eyes. He scowls and looks away.

"Is that all of them?" Arthur asks as he and Yusuf approach Eames and Ariadne.

"On this floor, at least, yeah," Ariadne replies. "You set up the PASIV?"

Arthur nods. "They'll be locked in a dream maze for two hours." The other three look at him questioningly. "I thought we should play it a little safe this time."

"Where's the fun in that?" Eames mumbles, disappointed.

"Vatican next," Arthur reminds him, shoving a tranquilizer gun at his chest before taking off for the stairs. (In a dream, later, Eames pulls Arthur back and kisses him, rough and possessive, and they're suddenly in the middle of the gardens at Versailles. Arthur smirks and pushes Eames into a fountain and Eames listens to Arthur laugh.)

\--

They're waiting for a train.

Others waiting on the platform are giving them dirty looks for the outrageous amount of space being taken by their luggage. Yusuf glares back and jerks his forearm at strangers. Eames ignores them in favor of staring at Arthur.

"Are you worried about her?" he asks, voice low so Ariadne can't hear.

"No," Arthur answers honestly, just as quietly. He looks up to meet Eames' eyes. "She's more than capable of starting over in England." Eames nods. "I'm just wondering where I'm going to put _The Raft of the Medusa_."

(In a dream, later, Eames starts to say, "I know a guy who can make a frame," but instead says, "Let's buy a house together."

If Arthur is surprised, he doesn't show it. "Can we just buy some land instead?" he asks. "Then Ariadne can design the house and make sure the rooms are big enough for your Caravaggios."

"Don't forget the Titians, love," Eames says fondly. Arthur smiles.

"And then in a few months, we'll hit the Vatican," he says. He reaches out to rub his thumb over Eames' elbow.

"The Poussin painting you like is there," Eames says lowly, his mouth touching Arthur's ear. "I'm sure we can find a place for it in the house as well. Ariadne can live nearby and we can visit anytime we want to see good ol' Mona Lisa."

"Or Ariadne," Arthur says, amused. "Where is she, by the way?" he begins to ask, but as he looks around, he realizes that he and Eames are entirely alone in the station. His hand immediately goes to his pocket, fingers clutch desperately at the die there before shaking it lightly in a loose fist. The weight feels familiar but slightly off, and for the first time, Arthur wonders if he's just remembering it wrong.

"It's a dream, love," Eames says sadly, placing his hand gently around Arthur's wrist, stilling any movements.

"It's always a dream with you," Arthur says, gasping for air. It feels like his lungs have stopped working and he shuts his eyes, lets Eames kiss him until he can breathe again.

"Doesn't have to always be a dream, you know," Eames says. Arthur shouldn't be able to hear him – he's whispering and there's a train close by, suddenly passing through the station at full speed, never stopping, never ending – but it's clear and loud and heartbreaking. Arthur pushes away but Eames' grip tightens and Arthur can't move, just watches wordlessly as Eames pulls a worn playing card from his pocket.

Eames slides the card through his fingers, flips it around them, and holds it up for Arthur to see. Arthur focuses on the torn top corner of the Ace, familiar to his sight but not to his touch, and calmness crashes over him; the train stops abruptly. "I'm not your projection," Eames says plainly. When Arthur nods, Eames slips the card back into his pocket and bends down to pick up a suitcase, never removing his fingers from Arthur's wrist. "Ready to go, dear?" he asks.

Arthur looks at the train in front of them. "Where's it taking us?"

"Wherever we want to go," Eames answers. "Take out your die again. We can roll on it to see who decides.")

"Shouldn't be too hard to figure out," Eames says. He looks past Arthur, down the tracks, and adds unnecessarily, "Train's here."

\--

In Eames' London flat, later, Arthur wakes up first. He takes a quick shower, pulls on the only jeans he owns, and stands in front of the stove. He's disastrously awful at cooking, but Eames has been patient in teaching him, and he thinks that he could actually have breakfast ready by the time Eames wakes.

He's fiddling with the die when Eames enters the kitchen. "You cooked breakfast," Eames says. He sniffs at the air. "Funny, it doesn't smell like anything's on fire. Is this a dream?"

"Ha bloody ha," Arthur says, slipping the die back into his pocket and sitting down at the small table with two plates. Eames sits next to him and smirks.

"You're so cute when you talk like me, love," Eames says fondly. He takes a tentative bite of the eggs on his plate and looks at Arthur. "Congratulations, Arthur, you have successfully cooked breakfast. Personally, I'm impressed that it only took you two months." Arthur kicks him under the table.

"I'm not _that_ bad," Arthur mumbles.

"You want to cook the pasta tonight, then?" Eames asks. Arthur frowns.

"No, no," he says quickly. "I'll stick with the sauce."

"Thought so," Eames says with a smile.

After a few quiet moments, Arthur asks, "Do you think we should get a pet?"

"Well, you know that I have very positive feelings about pigs," Eames answers. "And stray dogs." Arthur's hand goes to his pocket, but Eames reaches out to stop him. "No more dreams," he says, a reminder, and Arthur smiles.

"I think I could live with another pig," Arthur says thoughtfully. It's Arthur who gets kicked under the table this time and Eames listens to him laugh.


End file.
